


In Secret Love of Strange Affinity

by Elorianna



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets, Milex - Fandom
Genre: Dorian Gray crossover, First Time, Fluffy Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Magic Realism, Pining, Secret love, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, With apologies to Mr Wilde
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:20:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26422525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elorianna/pseuds/Elorianna
Summary: Alex had never meant to fall in love with Miles. His love is a secret that he keeps close to his heart, wishing for an opportune moment that never comes. But one summer weekend, he and Miles take a jaunt down to Brighton while Alex is on a break from his AM tour, and the events of their trip take an unusual turn. Now, with both his heart and their friendship on the line, Alex must finally make a choice. Will he continue to hide his secret? Or will he find a way to tell Miles the truth?
Relationships: Miles Kane/Alex Turner
Comments: 54
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RichieBrook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RichieBrook/gifts).



> I wrote this fic as a birthday gift for my fandom bestie, RichieBrook, because she is lovely and she deserves all the Milex fluff. Richie, I’m afraid this is about as fluffy as a self-confessed angst queen can manage, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless ;)

  


“Nay, without thought or conscious desire, might not things external to ourselves vibrate in unison with our moods and passions, atom calling to atom in secret love of strange affinity?”

_The Picture of Dorian Gray_

Alex’s heart did a little flip when Miles caught his eye and grinned at him from the other side of the pier. It was involuntary, and lately it had been happening far too often.

Miles was waiting in line at the hotdog stand, dressed for the weather in shorts and a loud patterned shirt, and he stood out like a colourful beacon amidst the crowd. He stood out everywhere they went, of course, but today the sunlight made his colours and his eyes sparkle. His short hair was sun-kissed and tousled and his skin looked like it’d been dipped in honey after he’d spent the whole weekend lounging on the beach. He was, suffice it to say, stunning, and Alex was finding it a struggle to keep his eyes off him.

Miles grinned at him again and Alex turned away. He leant over the wooden rail and gazed down at the ocean as it lapped at the pier beneath his feet. It was late afternoon and Brighton seafront was crowded with day-trippers and sunbathers, the air around them shimmering in the summer heat. The music of the fairground rides lent the place a holiday atmosphere. The gulls whirled and cried overhead, and the waves swelled and hissed up the pebbled beach. Alex traced the line of stalls that wound its way along the edges of the beach, a riotous carnival of quaint little shops selling all kinds of handcrafted items. He and Miles had barely begun to explore them all, having spent most of the day either in the water or getting tipsy on sangria in one of the beachside bars. The alcohol and the balmy weather had combined to leave Alex feeling loose-limbed and mellow, and over the course of the past few hours he'd found his tightly wound inhibitions starting to unravel.

It was a dangerous state of affairs. He needed those inhibitions, now more than ever. They protected him. They were the only thing that prevented him from making a complete fool of himself in front of Miles. If he didn't remain vigilant, something was bound to slip out that he hadn't meant to say. He couldn’t risk giving voice to the secret desires that he held in his heart. Where the hell would he and Miles be then? On the high road to a broken friendship, that was where.

He closed his eyes and focused on the gentle rush of the waves. He allowed the sounds to soothe the tremulous flutter in his stomach. Christ. He’d never meant to fall in love with Miles. It had taken him by surprise, like an unexpected key change in the middle of a song. Perhaps he ought to have been paying more attention. He couldn’t deny that he and Miles had always shared a certain special affinity with one another, but he’d never sought to frame it as anything other than a close and unusual friendship. That was until recently, when he’d recognised the hidden truth. As soon as he’d figured it out, he’d immediately tried to repress it, but of course it was no use. The harder he’d pushed his feelings away, the more forcefully they’d returned, and it had been months now. Months of distracting himself. Months of pretending and denial. And it had gotten him nowhere.

The problem with Miles was that he was irresistible. Alex was in way over his head, but he’d failed to realise the depth of his feelings until midway through the tour. It was crazy to think it, but he’d been on the road with the band now for over a year – with sporadic breaks in between gigs, of course, but never before had he been parted from Miles for such an extended length of time. He’d been unprepared for how much he missed the company of his best friend, and he’d begun to think of him ever more often. In fact, as the weeks had stretched into months, Miles had come to occupy the largest portion of his waking thoughts. Alex had begun to reminisce, and then to daydream, and then… his fantasies had taken an unexpected turn.

And now, here he was, in a situation he’d never planned for and which he had no idea how to deal with. He couldn’t very well tell Miles the truth. Regardless of their physical affection towards each other, this was a line they’d never crossed. And while Alex had, admittedly, always harboured a secret curiosity about other men, Miles… well, for as long as Alex had known him, Miles had always dated girls. He’d never shown any interest of that nature in Alex. His affection, though given abundantly, had always been platonic. Even if Alex could’ve summoned the nerve to raise the subject with him, he had no idea how to begin the conversation.

And besides, there was never a good time to talk. Especially not now, when Alex had another six months of touring still ahead of him. They barely saw each other, and whenever they did meet up all he wanted to do was enjoy Miles’s company. He didn’t want to drop a bombshell and ruin what precious little time they had together. And so, what he had resolved to do was carry on as normal, and say nothing.

Perhaps it was cowardly, but in a way he’d sort of grown to enjoy the secrecy. He had to admit that his feelings for Miles had brought a great deal of romance into his life. It had made the colours of his world seem brighter and more vivid. Every part of him felt a little more alive and awake as a direct result of Miles’s presence. And though he hid it from everyone else, he could no longer hide it from himself – the truth that it gave him a warm thrill to be close to Miles now, to touch him on the arm in passing, or to hug him hello or goodbye. He’d begun to live for those little moments of contact.

Pleasant too was his new ability to lose himself in romantic daydreams. Such fantasies buoyed him up on the long days spent on the road, cooped up in buses or on planes as they travelled from country to country. The daydreams soothed him, and gave him a place to go where he could forget all his tiredness and his troubles.

But still, for all that, he knew it was a foolish pastime. For all the pleasure that his secret thoughts and daydreams gave him, he suffered an equal amount of pain. The fantasies were comforting while they lasted, but they brought home to him how deeply he missed being with Miles for real, and the longer he'd been away on tour, the worse their separation had felt. It was rare for him to have found himself back in London for a whole two week stretch, and so he'd pounced on the opportunity to suggest that he and Miles head down to Brighton for the weekend – just the two of them – before Alex had to head off to Germany for the next leg of the tour.

He didn’t regret the decision. He would never regret spending quality time with Miles. But the weekend had proved to be far more of a challenge than he’d expected it to be, what with the hot weather and the drinking, and with Miles himself walking around shirtless half the time. Alex was used to being able to indulge his fantasies safely within the privacy of his own head, which was fine when he was out on the road with the rest of the band. But it’d turned out to be far less fine now that Miles was right here with him, looking like he’d stepped out of some Greek myth with his sandals and his bronzed skin and his dazzling smile. It was bloody distracting to say the least, and it had made Alex’s daydreaming far more risky. With Miles around, such dreams were apt to become temptation, and such temptation might then lead to action. Alex had to avoid that at all costs.

“Hey, Al,” Miles called to him now. “You want mustard or ketchup?”

Alex turned back to face the hotdog stall. Miles was standing next to the condiments, a hotdog in each hand. “Both,” Alex called back.

Miles grinned. He dressed the two hotdogs in matching stripes of red and yellow and then crossed the pier to Alex’s side. “Here you go. I got you extra onions.”

“Cheers.” Alex took the proffered hotdog and bit into it. “What d’you want to do for the rest of the day, then? I feel like I’ve done all the swimming I can do.”

Miles nodded in agreement. “I feel like shopping for some souvenirs, what d’you reckon?” He waved an arm in the direction of the stalls that lined the edges of the beach. “’S not a proper holiday unless you come back with a bit of useless tat to put on your shelf, is it?”

“Yeah, s’pose not. What d’you want, then, a stick of rock?”

“Nah, we can do better than that.”

Miles set off towards the beach side of the pier and Alex trailed after him. The sun was warm on the back of his neck and his head was still a little fuzzy from the sangria, but neither feeling was unpleasant. He caught up to Miles and fell into step beside him. He pretended he didn’t feel those dangerous little tingles on his skin every time their bare arms brushed.

They walked until they reached the first little stall. It was overhung with an awning which offered some welcoming shade, and the tables were laden with all manner of jewellery in the form of rings, bracelets and pendants.

“Hand-carved, that is,” said the shop holder as Alex picked up a dark polished ring to examine it more closely. “Carved it myself out of cocobolo wood. Try it on if you like.”

Alex slipped the ring on to his middle finger. Surprisingly, it was a perfect fit. “Yeah, it’s nice that,” he admitted. He smiled at the shop holder and returned the ring to the table. “I’m not much of a one for buying meself jewellery though.”

“You sure?” Miles said. “It suits you.”

“Nah, I’m all good.”

Miles finished off his hotdog and chucked the napkin in the bin. “Alright then, on we go.”

They spent the next twenty minutes wandering from stall to stall and discovering all kinds of handmade treasures. There were garden ornaments carved out of driftwood, clay sculptures of seabirds, whales and boats, little trinkets made from sea glass and shells. Alex stopped at each stall and chatted with the stallholder while Miles perused the wares, but nothing seemed to catch his eye. Each time, he shook his head at Alex and they moved on to the next stall without buying anything.

“What is it exactly that you’re looking for?” Alex asked him after a while.

Miles just shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. “But I’ll know when I see it.”

They kept walking, but they were fast approaching the end of the line of shops and it was starting to look as though they would go home empty handed. Another ten minutes of shopping passed and Miles still hadn’t found whatever mythical object he was seeking, and his lips were pursed in a slight pout. It was a dangerous sight to behold. Alex wetted his own lips and resolutely redirected his gaze towards the ocean instead.

He watched the waves roll up and down the beach. He inhaled the sea air and tasted the salt on his tongue. Christ, everything was so perfect. The weather, the landscape, the whole weekend that he’d spent with Miles. He knew with certainty that he’d be reliving these memories once he was back on the road with the lads. The recollections would keep him going until he was able to see Miles again… or at least for a little while. Memories, of course, were tricky things. They had a tendency to distort, to become cloudy or to fade away in patches. It was an unfortunate side effect of the passage of time. He wished he could’ve found a way to preserve his memories in their perfect state. To capture his emotions. To pause time and bottle the tingling joy that hummed in his veins, flirting the border between contentment and desire.

But there was no point in wishing for impossible things. Wishing had never accomplished anything. He would have to make do with his present reality, just as everybody else did.

He glanced to his left and realised that Miles was no longer beside him. He stopped walking and looked back. Miles was stood beside the third to last stall and he was wearing an excited grin.

“What is it?” Alex said. “What’ve you found?”

“Come ‘ere and look.”

Alex ambled back up the path and stopped in front of the place that had caught Miles’s attention. It was a self-contained stall, a little square tent with canvas walls and a pointed roof, and the stallholder was clearly an artist. Paintings hung on the outside and were propped up in gilt frames against the walls; portraits of people in surreal colours, their skin as bright as the pattern on Miles’s shirt. Alex could see why the stall had caught his eye.

“These are dead cool, aren’t they?” Miles said.

“They’re pretty nice, yeah. But do you really want a portrait of a stranger hanging in your living room?”

There was a swish of beads as the curtain masking the entrance to the tent was drawn aside. A dark-haired woman stepped out and smiled at them. She wore a long flowered skirt and her fingers and toes were weighed down with rings. Her eyes made Alex think of the sea.

“I do commissions,” she said. “If you boys have time to sit for me, I’d be happy to paint you.”

“We have time, right?” Miles turned to him, his eyebrows raised in expectation.

“Well…”

“I can do it in less than an hour,” the woman said. “And I promise it’s cooler inside the tent than it is out here. All you need to do is sit still and relax.”

“Oh come on, Al, let’s do it,” Miles said. “It’d be great to have a memento of the weekend.”

Alex tried to think of a reason to explain his reluctance, but he couldn’t put his finger on one. Sitting down in the shade for an hour sounded good, and doing something that would make Miles happy sounded even better. But there was something in the way this woman was looking at him that made him feel oddly self-conscious. It was like she was trying to read him, or to suss him out somehow. But then again, he could’ve been imagining it. Or perhaps that was just the way that artists looked at their soon-to-be subjects.

“Oh, alright then, if you’re that keen,” he said to Miles.

“Yes!”

Alex blushed as Miles intertwined their fingers and tugged him into the tent after the woman. The beads swished into place behind them and Miles took a seat on the bench that had been placed just inside the entrance. The sunlight poured in through the gaps in the curtain and lit upon him like a gentle spotlight, making his skin glow in the dimness of the interior. Alex opted for a shadier spot just beside him. He was relieved to find that it was indeed cooler inside the tent than on the beach outside.

He stretched out his legs and looked around. Further towards the back of the tent was a tall easel, and beside it stood a wooden table strewn with brushes and pots of paint. There were spare canvases stacked up against the back wall, and beside them lay a pile of gold-coloured frames in various sizes. They were sturdy and ornate-looking, like the frames in a portrait gallery.

“Are you both comfortable?” the woman asked.

“We’re great, thanks love,” Miles said. He gave her a cheeky grin. “Paint us like one of your French girls, eh?”

“Jesus Christ, ignore him,” Alex said. He could feel his face reddening again. “Just paint us however you see fit. Ideally with clothes on.”

Miles cackled. “Spoilsport.”

“Just trying to protect your modesty, aren’t I?”

“You should know by now, I don’t have any.”

“Yeah, right, I forgot.”

Miles treated him to a wide grin, and then winked at him. Alex’s knees turned to water. He could almost believe Miles was doing it on purpose to make him suffer. But no, of course he wasn’t. Miles had no way of knowing the effect he was having, or the feelings he was stirring up in the pit of Alex’s stomach. And Alex was determined to keep it that way.

“I wonder,” the woman said, breaking into their conversation. “Could you boys sit a little closer together? I’d like to get you both in the light.”

“Sure, love,” Miles said. He tugged Alex’s arm and Alex slid helplessly across the bench. He sat in shocked silence. They were pressed up against each other, thigh to thigh, their bare arms touching, and oh god but this had been a terrible mistake. Why the hell had he let Miles talk him into this?

“Alright?” Miles said.

Alex nodded too fast. “Fine, yeah, great. Let’s do this.”

Miles grinned. “Stop fidgeting then and keep still.”

Alex grimaced inwardly. He tried to ignore the churning in his stomach. Damn Miles and his bloody holiday mementoes.

The woman picked up her paintbrush and gave them both an appraising look. “Could you turn a little more to face me?” she said to Miles. “That’s better, the light is good now.”

Alex turned to look at him. The light was better than good. Miles was lit golden in the sunshine, his eyes shone and his skin looked radiant. Alex felt like he could look at him forever.

“That’s perfect,” the woman said. “Stay exactly like that, both of you.”

Alex uttered a silent curse inside his head, regretting his move at once. This woman must be trying to kill him. She wanted him to sit still and stare at Miles for a whole hour? He might spontaneously combust first.

The ghost of a smile touched the edges of Miles’s lips, like he was enjoying Alex’s attention. Knowing him, he probably was. The thought of it only made matters worse. Alex needed to reign himself the fuck in.

The woman bent her head to the canvas and began to paint. Alex sought for a distraction. He tuned in to the distant splash of the waves on the pebbles outside and to the shouts of the kids playing beach volleyball. From beyond the tent came the musical tinkle of an ice cream van. The mingled scents of summer drifted inside on a gentle breeze.

“Hey, ice cream after this, yeah?” Miles murmured, barely moving his mouth.

Alex stayed in position and tried not to smile. Trust Miles to be thinking already about what they were going to do next. He never slowed down did Miles, never stopped. Sometimes Alex just wanted to grab hold of him and make him stand still. Make him pay attention, make him listen and feel. But Miles couldn’t help who he was. He was a live wire, zapping in all directions, and being with him was like being on some crazy fairground ride. Whenever Alex was with Miles the world span past at breakneck speed. The time they spent with each other blurred, and it always ran out too fast.

And yet, for the next hour at least, here was Miles sitting quietly by his side. Here was a rare chance to savour the moment, and considering that fact, perhaps this hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. It wasn’t like Alex was often given the opportunity to sit and stare at Miles without consequence, to drink him in to his heart’s content. Why was he trying to distract himself from this situation, when what he really ought to be doing was making the most of it?

He returned his attention to the warmth of Miles’s bare skin, to the press of his weight. God, but he looked good. Alex could smell his aftershave and his shampoo. It was giving him thoughts. The kind of thoughts he usually reserved for when he was alone in his bunk late at night, when the rest of the band was asleep. But it wasn’t just that. It was the overwhelming fondness that was growing in the middle of his chest. He couldn’t help but cast a loving eye over his friend’s familiar features, taking in his smile and the little crinkles around his eyes. Fuck, he knew he was turning into a sap. But he couldn’t help it. He was in love. He was fucking head-over-heels smitten with Miles, the cocky bastard. How the hell was he supposed to keep a secret this big to himself? But how the hell could he ever tell Miles the truth?

His thoughts melted into a daydream and he pictured the two of them on a sunset evening, Miles smiling at him and taking his hand, leaning close and whispering in his ear. Alex’s skin tingled as he imagined what it would feel like, and how it would taste, if he were to let Miles kiss him. He fought hard not to blush as his thoughts ran on, but he soon lost himself in secret yearning as he continued to gaze at Miles’s face.

He jumped when the woman spoke.

“All done,” she said. “I’m pleased with this one, even if I say so myself. Come and see.”

Alex blinked away his reverie. He glanced down at his watch. Had it really been an hour already? The time had been cruelly short. Miles stood up and stretched, and Alex had to resist an urge to grab hold of his hand and pull him close again.

“Wow,” Miles said. He’d moved to the other side of the easel and was gazing at the painting. “Al, come here and check this out.”

Alex got up and went to him, and his eyes landed on the picture. He caught his breath. The portrait of Miles was _stunning_. She’d captured the very essence of him, his colours, his smile, his aura. It was mesmerising. He could pick out every subtle shade in Miles's dark irises, and the arch of his mouth was rendered in such delicate pinks that it made his lips appear sinfully kissable. Alex felt weak just looking at them. The sunlight bounced off Miles’s skin and made it glow and his beauty shone out of the paintwork just as it did in life. Alex, meanwhile, was painted half in shadow and the artist had rendered him in more understated tones. He was gazing at Miles with a wistful expression, his lips pursed and his brow wrinkled. She'd done a pretty good job of interpreting his emotions, so much so that it was a little unsettling. But no doubt his feelings were obvious only to him. He was the only one who knew what he'd been thinking.

He became dimly aware that Miles was speaking with the woman, but he was too captivated to pay much attention. He could feel himself blushing again. He swallowed hard, clenched his fists and forced himself to calm down. It was only paint, after all. Just bloody paint. He needed to get a grip. His eyes returned to the perfect curve of Miles’s painted lips, and his stomach gave a little somersault. He was overcome with a sudden, desperate longing. He wished with a fervent passion that he could tell Miles the truth. He would have given anything in that moment for one chance to show Miles that he loved him, and as more than just a friend. Christ, he would have given his very soul.

But no, it was impossible. The very idea of confessing was horrifying. Miles would think he'd lost the plot. He'd look at Alex like he was crazy, or worse he’d take it as a joke and he’d laugh. What would Alex do then? No, it was unbearable to contemplate. If Miles were to laugh at him, it would have broken his heart.

Miles nudged him with an elbow. “Hey, looks alright that, don't it?”

Alex turned to him and was met with a grin. “Yeah,” he said weakly. “Yeah, it looks great.”

“It’ll take some time for the paint to dry,” the woman said. “I can hold it for you to collect later. I can frame it for you too, if you’d like?” She indicated the stack of frames that were piled up behind her.

“Nice one, that’d be perfect,” Miles said. “Can I pick the frame?”

The woman nodded. “Of course, go right ahead.”

Despite his inner turmoil, Alex couldn’t help but smile as he watched Miles pick out the shiniest and most ludicrously ornate gold frame in the whole bunch. The woman set it aside next to the easel.

“Come back in a few hours,” she said. “I’ll have it ready for you by then.”

“That’s brill, thanks love!” Miles said. He turned to Alex, still grinning. “Ice cream, then?”

“Yeah, sure, let’s do that.”

Miles pushed aside the curtain and sent the beads rattling as he stepped out into the sun. Alex made to follow him, but then he paused for a second to look back at the picture, not wanting to leave without one last glimpse. He was caught by the gaze of the woman, who was standing there watching him. In the dimness of the tent her eyes no longer reminded him of the sea, but of darker depths. She was still looking at him in that strange way, as though he were a book left open at its centrefold, spilling his words out on to the pages.

“I’ll see you again soon,” she said, and smiled at him. Her bracelets jangled as she moved, like bells.

Alex merely nodded, for some reason finding himself speechless. He pushed aside the beads, hurried out of the cool shadows of the tent, and took off into the sunshine after Miles.


	2. Chapter 2

They spent the rest of the afternoon on the beach. Miles had recuperated from their earlier swim and he was keen to get back in the water. Alex left him to it. He sunbathed and contented himself with watching as Miles dipped in and out of the waves.

The crowd on the beach began to thin as teatime approached, but Alex felt reluctant to make a move. The weekend had gone by so fast and tomorrow morning they would have to leave. He could hardly be blamed for wanting to stretch their time out just a little bit longer.

It was Miles who eventually began to dress himself and to fold up the towels, and Alex watched him do it with a heavy heart.

“Hey, d’ya remember that little Italian place we saw yesterday?” Miles said, as he fastened his sandals.

Alex’s stomach rumbled. He found he was starving, despite the hotdogs and ice cream. “Yeah, why, you wanna go there for dinner? They looked pretty full up last night.”

Miles nodded. “I’m gonna take a walk up there now and see if we can book a table. It’s right the other end of the beach though and it’s getting late. Do you wanna pop by the stall and pick up our painting before she closes, and I’ll meet you at the restaurant?”

“Yeah, I s’pose that makes sense.”

Miles gathered up the rest of the beach paraphernalia and stuffed it in his bag. “Think that’s everything.” He gave Alex’s arm a gentle squeeze apropos of nothing, and Alex’s heart did a little skip. “Catch you in a bit, then?”

“Yeah, in a bit.”

Miles turned and Alex watched him walk away up the beach. He waited until Miles was out of earshot before allowing himself a heavy sigh. He turned in the other direction and made his way back to the line of stalls that clustered along the edge of the beach front.

The canvas tent stood as before, its outer walls adorned with bright portraits and its bead curtain draped across the dim entrance. He pushed the curtain aside as carefully as he could, but the beads still rattled softly as he stepped inside.

“Welcome back.” The woman looked up at him and smiled. She was stood over a small table, arranging a vase of roses. She clipped the stem of the one in her hand with a small pair of pruning shears and set it to rest with its fellows. The air inside the tent was sweet with perfume.

“Those are beautiful,” Alex said.

“Thank you. Roses are my second passion, after painting.”

She moved to the back of the tent and lifted up a large square canvas covered by a cloth. “Here we are,” she said. She drew the cloth aside and revealed the picture of Miles and Alex, now framed in burnished gold. Alex gaped at it. The portrait of Miles still took his breath away. He felt a sudden bizarre jealousy of his own painted image, for the simple fact that it could continue to sit beside such a beautiful being for all its life, while he himself was doomed to go on the road in just over a week, leaving Miles behind.

He brushed his finger lightly across the frame. “You’ve really captured him, you know. Both of us actually. It’s amazing work.”

She smiled. “I’m glad you think so. I try to paint what I see.” She covered the canvas with the cloth once more, then picked a rose from the vase. It was a vibrant pink, its petals half unfurled. She plucked a sharp knife from the table and carefully removed the thorns. “Here,” she said. “Take this.”

He took a step back. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. Keep it in the vase, love, it’ll be wasted on me.”

“Nonsense, it’s my gift to you, and I don’t give my gifts to those who waste them. Here.” She pushed the rose into his reluctant fingers. “If you won’t take it for yourself, then take it for somebody you love.”

Alex felt his face turning a deeper shade than the flower. He tucked the rose inside the back of the picture frame. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

She shook her head. “As an artist I don’t aim to be kind. I only aim to be truthful.” Her smile faded and her gaze grew focused. It was the same look as before, the one which made him feel as though she was staring right into his heart. “Take care of that painting, won’t you,” she said. “It would be unfortunate if it were to get damaged.”

“I– of course, I’ll look after it.”

“I hope so, Alex.”

She turned back to her roses and began to cut them once more. Her shears sliced through the stems as though they were paper. The air inside the tent felt suddenly cloying, the sweet scent of the flowers making him dizzy. He lifted the painting and walked backwards through the bead curtain, sending it crashing around him.

“Bye, then,” he called through the opening, but no response came. Only the clip of the shears. He hefted the canvas, tucked it beneath his arm and began to walk. He was halfway to the restaurant when it occurred to him that the woman had called him by his name. Which was odd. He’d never actually told her what it was.

* * *

Miles was inside when Alex arrived, sat at a table beside a large fish tank that teemed with tiny yellow fish. The restaurant was lit dimly and there were tealights burning on each of the tables. From hidden speakers in the ceiling came the soft tinkle of classical music. Alex hesitated at the entrance, his fingers curling around the edges of the painting. It all felt a little bit too romantic.

But there was no time for second thoughts. Miles had spotted him and was waving him over. Alex swallowed down a rush of jitters and summoned his common sense. There was no reason for him to be nervous. It was only Miles, and this was _not_ a date. It was just dinner. Just dinner between two platonic friends in a romantic, candlelit restaurant. That was all. He sucked in his stomach, hefted the painting under his arm and made his way over to the table.

It transpired that he’d had nothing to worry about; to his intense relief, the evening passed without a hitch. It was hard not to relax in Miles's company. They ordered expensive red wine and Alex sipped it slowly with his food, not wanting to get himself too drunk. He felt drunk enough as it was, watching the candlelight play over Miles's sun-kissed skin and the way his face lit up whenever he laughed, which was often.

They stayed in the restaurant for several hours, drinking and talking, until finally Miles suggested that they get their dessert to-go so that they could take one last walk along the beach before the sunset.

The sun was dipping close to the horizon as they made their way up the beach front. The pebbles crunched and sank beneath Alex’s feet and the after-effect of the wine made him sway a bit as he walked, his balance not helped by having the cumbersome painting in one hand and a takeaway box full of chocolate cake in the other. Miles caught him when he stumbled and wrapped a steadying arm round his waist. Alex leaned against him, tipsy enough to do it, and ignored the slow warmth that spread through his body as he did so. He tried to blame the wine for that too.

At last they settled on a spot and Miles unfurled the picnic blanket. He sat down close to Alex and divided the cake into two napkins. They ate in companionable silence as the sinking sun painted the sky with streaks of orange and the darkening waves hissed gently up the beach.

“We should do this again, when you’re back off tour,” Miles said. “This was nice.”

Alex swallowed the rest of his cake and nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Never enough spare time these days, is there?”

“No, there never is.”

Miles sighed. Alex watched him lay down on his back and turn his gaze to the sky. The clouds above them were high and scattered, tinted a delicate pink like wisps of spun sugar. There was a radiance to the light which fell upon Miles’s face, and Alex recalled Zack telling him on a recent photoshoot that the time near to sunset was known to photographers as the golden hour, because the warm softness of the sunlight made for the most flattering of pictures. He could see now what Zack had meant. Miles looked like he belonged in a piece of Renaissance art; as though he were an angel floating upon a bed of clouds. It made Alex hurt to look at him.

“I wish…”

Alex stopped himself abruptly. He hadn’t meant to speak out loud. Miles turned his head. His dark eyes had sparks of gold in them and Alex couldn’t help but imagine how soft his skin would be to touch.

“What?” Miles said. “What do you wish, Al?”

“Nothing, never mind. I were just talking to meself.”

Miles smiled. He lay back and closed his eyes. “Alright then.”

Alex forced his eyes back to the horizon. He watched as the sun’s lower rim kissed the lip of the sea and slowly sank beneath the waves. He wished his wish in silence, and shivered as the first of the cool night breezes whispered over his skin.

* * *

The sky had darkened to a dusky twilight by the time they got back to the hotel. Miles was yawning in the lift, and Alex too felt the sleepiness brought on by exposure to the sea air. He’d hoped to stay awake a little longer, to invite Miles into his room for a nightcap perhaps, but from the way Miles was blinking at him with soft-lidded eyes, he knew his friend would be asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

“G’night then, Miles,” Alex said as they reached his hotel room door.

Miles pulled him into a lazy hug. “Night, Al. Set your alarm, checkout’s at ten, remember?”

“I remember.”

He held back a sigh as Miles squeezed him tighter. He could feel the flutter of Miles’s eyelashes against the side of his neck. Christ, had Miles really no clue what he was doing to him?

“Sleep well,” Miles murmured against his ear, and then he detached himself and ambled up the corridor to his own room. Alex stayed where he was, his gaze lingering on Miles’s retreating form until Miles turned the corner and vanished from view.

His mood sank as he fumbled with his key card. He kicked the door open and managed to manoeuvre the painting inside without catching it on the doorframe. He leaned it up against the wall and then flung himself down on the bed. He buried his face in a pillow and let the fabric muffle his moan of frustration. How was he to bear six more months of this? His guilty secret weighed heavy on his heart. And even after those six months were over and he was back home from the tour, what then? How would he even begin to broach the subject? It was too big, too impossible. No, he would never find the words to explain it to Miles. He barely even understood it himself.

He pushed himself up from the bed and dragged himself to the bathroom. He washed his face, brushed his teeth and undressed down to his boxers, flinging his clothes over the back of a chair. He tossed the spare pillows on to the floor and lifted the corner of the duvet, and stopped as his eye fell upon the painting. It leant silently against the wall, covered by its protective cloth.

Despite there being no one there to see him, he blushed. He was overcome by a strong compulsion. He wanted to look at the picture again, just once more before he slept. It was a poor substitute for having Miles in his bedroom, let alone in his bed, but it was the next best thing. And surely it wasn’t that shameful to take one more quick peek before he went to sleep.

He went to the painting and pulled the cloth cover aside. He swore he could feel his own pupils dilating. The image of Miles was even more gorgeous than he remembered. Miles’s skin was beautiful and bronzed, his lips were soft and kissable. It oughtn’t to have been possible for paint to achieve such an effect, but there it was. Alex could almost imagine that the picture would yield beneath his fingertips, would love him back if he were to confess to it his secret.

He turned his gaze to his own image upon the canvas, and suddenly he started. There was something wrong here. What the hell had happened? His face… it had changed. It was different from before, he was almost sure of it. When he had looked last, his expression had been simply wistful, as though lost in thought, but now his painted double seemed to gaze at Miles with tender adoration. The change was subtle, but he was positive that his eyes hadn’t been filled with the kind of longing that they were now, and even the angle of his body seemed to have twisted more in Miles’s direction, as though drawn to him by an unstoppable force.

Alex sat heavily on the edge of the bed. What the hell was going on? Paint couldn’t change. That was crazy. There was no rhyme or reason for the painting to have altered like that.

Except…

He stopped and went very still. Of course he’d made that stupid wish. He remembered it now, he’d wished more than once today for Miles to know the secret of his feelings. He’d even been prepared to exchange his soul for it. But that was ridiculous. It was impossible that his wish should have been granted in such a way.

And yet…

He stared at the picture, and it seemed to mock him with his own desires, making them visible for all to see. For Miles to see.

He felt suddenly ill. If this was fate's way of granting his wish then it had played him a cruel trick. He couldn’t let Miles see the picture again now, with his face looking like that. It was mortifying. If Miles saw it, he would guess Alex’s secret immediately. He couldn’t let Miles find out the truth like that.

But how the hell could this have happened? Could the woman have altered her work before he’d collected it without him realising? It had been quite dim in the tent after all, and his eyes had been drawn to Miles’s portrait rather than his own. But no, surely he would have noticed something like this. It was so obvious.

A strange feeling prickled across the back of his neck. That woman, she’d been an odd sort. The way she’d looked at him, like she could read his mind. The way she’d known his name, without him even telling her. But then again, what did that prove? Perhaps Miles had told her his name, or maybe she’d simply recognised who he was. Either way, there was bound to be a logical explanation.

But there was no logical explanation for this.

Except that there was, of course. He was exhausted, and intoxicated, and he had a head full of daydreams and wild longing. It was the perfect storm for giving credence to impossible ideas. What was he even thinking? He stood abruptly, seized the cloth and flung it back over the picture. He was being ridiculous. The painting hadn’t changed. He was imagining it. What he needed was some sleep, some sobriety, and to stop spending half his time in fantasies that would never come true. In the morning he would doubtless look at the picture and find nothing in it that wasn’t ordinary.

He threw back the duvet, got into bed and clicked out the light. He was going to feel like such an idiot in the morning, he could already tell. He screwed up his eyes and pulled the covers over his head. He made himself think about the tour, and his travel plans, and where they’d be staying once they got to Germany.

He managed to fall asleep without thinking about Miles or the picture at all.


	3. Chapter 3

Alex woke too early the next morning. The sunlight streamed in through the gap in the curtains, but his watch told him it was only 7am. He groaned and rolled over to go back to sleep, but as he did so he caught a glimpse of the picture from the corner of his eye. It stood beyond the edge of the morning sunlight, the last of the shadows caught in the folds of its cloth.

He sat up, no longer tired. What nonsense had he dreamt up last night? The wine had obviously gotten to him. He rubbed his eyes and pushed his hair back from his face, climbed out of bed and stood contemplating the oblong shape of the picture frame. It seemed to taunt him somehow. There was a sticky queasiness at the back of his throat, which he would have put down to his hangover had it not been for the seed of doubt in the pit of his stomach.

He found he was afraid to pull the cloth aside. It was irrational, but his fears from last night had not left him after all. He crossed the room, his toes sinking in the carpet with each step. He took hold of the corner of the cloth and stood hesitating. Perhaps it was better not to know. Better to brush his fancies aside and carry on with his day as though nothing had happened. If Miles hadn’t been here in the hotel with him, he might have done just that. But as it was, he couldn’t risk Miles seeing the picture again before he’d had a chance to examine it himself. He had to lay his fears to rest.

He gave the cloth a tug and it slithered to the floor. His skin went cold. Oh god. It hadn’t been his imagination at all. His painted image was gazing at Miles with an expression that he could only describe as love-struck. It was even more obvious in the brightening sunshine. Fate was truly mocking him; he’d wanted a way to preserve his fond memories of his weekend with Miles, and now, here they were, written all over his face in this bloody picture.

How the hell was he going to get it home without Miles seeing it?

He checked his watch again. It was still early, but there was a supermarket around the corner that was sure to be open. He had just enough time to avert disaster before Miles woke up for breakfast. He dressed hurriedly, skipping a shower, then grabbed his key card and his wallet and headed out the door.

* * *

“What on earth did you do that for?” Miles said, a few hours later as they packed their luggage into Alex’s car.

Alex hefted the picture and slid it across the back seat. It was parcelled in several thick layers of bubble wrap and tightly sealed with tape. The plastic bubbles were dense enough to form an opaque shield across the surface of the canvas. “For protection,” Alex replied. “Don’t want it getting scratched, do we?”

“We’re only going in the car, Al. We’re not boarding an international flight.”

Alex affected what he hoped was a casual shrug. “Better safe than sorry.”

Miles snorted. “Alright then, you kook.” He gave Alex a look which fell somewhere between amusement and fondness and it made Alex’s cheeks flare with heat. But Miles didn’t seem to notice. He climbed into the passenger side and began drumming on the dash. “Come on, let’s get this show on the road. My turn to pick the tunes?”

“Go wild.”

Alex slid into the driver’s seat and shut the car door. He gave Miles a sidelong look as he watched him pick a Beatles CD out of the glove box. The sultry sound of John Lennon purring _I want you, I want you so bad_ hummed from the stereo. It sucked all the air out of the enclosed space and made warmth prickle over Alex’s skin. Miles turned to him and winked. “Can’t beat this, right?”

Alex swallowed hard. His throat was dry as a desert. His hand was clammy on the gear stick. “Yeah, right. Good choice.” He started the engine, turned the air con up to max and rolled them out of the car park.

The journey passed too quickly. It was a pleasurable kind of torture to sit beside Miles for those two brief hours, to inhale the scent of him and watch him smile as he belted out the words to his favourite songs with all his usual exuberance. Alex half wished he were driving to the moon instead of back to London. Even then, the time would have been too short.

The M25 was uncharacteristically free of gridlock, which meant that they neared home all the sooner. They crossed the river via the Blackwall Tunnel, and the lights that flashed past them in the narrow space increased the illusion of speed. Alex wound them northwards through the east side of the city, passing any number of familiar restaurants and pubs and skirting the edge of Victoria Park until finally, with a sinking feeling, he turned down a quiet road, slowed, and pulled up beside the curb. The inevitable moment of their parting had come.

Miles climbed out of the car and Alex followed suit. He stood awkwardly on the pavement as Miles retrieved his bags from the boot.

“I can take that if you want?” Miles said. He pointed to the painting.

Alex grabbed the lip of the boot and thumped it shut. “No, no. I’ll keep it, for now.”

Miles smirked. “Are you and me going to have arguments over this?”

“Nah, course not. I just thought that seeing as you don’t have much wall space right now, and you said you wanted to redecorate soon, and–”

“Relax, Al. I was kidding. You can look after it for now, if you really want to.” He grinned and punched Alex gently on the arm. “That reminds me actually, I’ve something else for you.” He began to dig through his pockets.

“Something else? What–?”

Miles pulled out a small leather box. “Here,” he said.

Alex stared at the object in Miles’s hand. Christ. It was undeniably a jewellery box. He fought to maintain his composure. “What… is that for?”

“It’s nothing, really. I just wanted to get you something to say thanks for a great weekend, and I know you liked this, so I snuck back and got it for you.” Miles popped the lid of the box. Inside, nestled on a purple cushion, was the polished wooden ring that Alex had tried on at the stall the previous day.

“Miles, fuck. You didn’t have to–”

“Nah, but I wanted to.” Miles pulled the ring free of its casing. “Come ‘ere.” He took hold of Alex’s hand before Alex could stop him. His callused fingertips pressed into Alex’s palm as he slid the ring on to Alex’s finger. “There you go. Told you it suited you.”

Miles brushed his thumb over the ring’s polished surface, and over Alex’s bare knuckles. Alex’s stomach churned. “Miles, it’s… thank you.”

Miles smiled. He gave Alex’s hand a squeeze before letting go. “How about I pop over and see you sometime this week before you head off? You got time?”

“I always got time for you. I mean– yeah, just come over whenever.”

Miles’s eyes shone. “I will, then.” He wrapped his arms around Alex’s shoulders and kissed him on the side of the head. “Take care of our picture, yeah?”

“Course I will.”

Miles released him, picked up his bags and mounted the steps of his building. Alex stood and watched him go, his skin still tingling from Miles’s touch.

* * *

The bubble wrap fell in pieces to the floor as Alex hacked at it with the scissors. Scraps of parcel tape attached themselves to the living room carpet and to his jeans, but he paid them no heed. The scissors bit at the packaging until at last the picture, still hidden by its protective cloth, came free. He tossed the scissors aside and steadied himself for a long moment. It was very quiet inside the house. The road outside was empty of traffic and the only sound was the constant drip of the tap in the kitchen. He measured his breathing in the silence, clenched his jaw and allowed himself the tentative possibility of hope.

He drew aside the protective cloth.

He stared at the picture in horror. The cursed thing had changed _again_. There could be no denying it now. An expression of pure yearning had appeared on the face of his painted counterpart, and the eyes were fixated upon the curve of Miles’s lips. There was no longer anything remotely subtle about it. This was the face of a man in love.

Alex glanced towards his own reflection in the mirror above the mantelpiece. His expression was neutral, carefully composed. He didn’t look like a man in love, despite the way his heart pined and ached in his chest. None of those feelings showed on his face, but only on the face of his counterpart, as though the painting had developed some strange affinity with the secret longings of his soul. There was no explanation for it. It was unfathomable. And yet it was a fact.

He uttered a groan and buried his face in his hands. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He could hardly hang the bloody thing on the wall. It was tied to him somehow, and it appeared that the more infatuated he became with Miles, the more blatant his feelings were becoming on the face of his painted double. He couldn't stand for his heart to be laid bare like this, for all prying eyes to see. And Miles, what the hell would Miles think if he saw it?

No, there was only one option. He had to hide it. There was too much truth in the thing, too much of his hidden desire. Anyone who laid eyes on it would know at once what his true feelings were for Miles, and if Miles were ever to find out, it would surely spell an end to the closeness of their friendship.

Alex lurched forward and seized the picture. He hauled it roughly up the stairs to the landing and pulled down the ladder which led to the loft. He manoeuvred it awkwardly up the metal steps and dragged it across the wooden boards to the spot which lay above his bedroom ceiling. He flung the cloth back over the canvas and secured it with more parcel tape. Here, then, was where the picture would stay, in amongst the dust and the cobwebs where no one would ever see it. It would be safe up here, and Miles would remain none the wiser as to Alex’s secret feelings.

Alex climbed back down the ladder and closed up the entrance behind him. He went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. The room still smelt a bit like paint and there were DIY tools lying on the counter where Jamie had abandoned them after their last little home improvement venture. Alex pushed the things to one side. He poured hot water into a mug and made an attempt to reassure himself. In just over a week, he’d be back in Europe, and six months was a pretty long time to be away. For once he was glad of the tour’s extended duration. By the time he got home, Miles would surely have forgotten all about the picture, or at least have lost interest in its whereabouts. And then the picture could remain safely in the loft, gathering dust, and it would eventually be forgotten about by both of them.

All Alex had to do was wait.

* * *

He passed a fitful night’s rest. He kept waking in the dark, his eyes gravitating to the spot on the ceiling above his bed where he knew the picture to be hidden on the opposite side of the plaster. Every time he drifted into a doze, the painted image of their faces hovered like a photographic negative on the inside of his eyelids.

He got up just before lunchtime the next day, thinking that he’d spend a few quiet hours on the sofa and then maybe take a nap, but he’d barely made his plans when the doorbell rang. It startled him out of his spacey thoughts as he sat slumped at the kitchen table, trying to kick-start his brain with a double expresso. The harsh buzz of the bell was followed by a blast of laughter from outside, which could only be Miles.

He flung his coffee cup in the sink and smoothed back his hair. He hadn’t expected to see Miles again so soon. He attempted to calm himself, but found he was twisting the ring that Miles had given him back and forth on his finger as he made his way up the hall and opened the front door.

Miles stood on the doorstep in a shirt that looked like a kaleidoscope had exploded all over it, and he wasn’t by himself. Matt was with him, looking decidedly less colourful and just about as tired as Alex was.

“Morning,” Alex said. “You guys are here early.”

“Not by choice,” Matt grumbled.

Miles grinned. “Thought we could do lunch, if you’re hungry?”

“Yeah, I could eat. Haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

Miles chuckled. “Yeah, thought as much. Go on, grab your keys.”

“Wait, what about the thing?” Matt said.

Miles clapped him on the shoulder. “Oh yeah. Hey Al, is it cool if we show Matt our picture before we go? I told him all about it on the way over and he’s dying to see it, aren’t you?” He nudged Matt with an elbow.

“Ow.” Matt elbowed him back. “Yeah, I wanna see it, if it means you’ll stop describing it to me. The way he’s been going on about this picture, Al, you’d think bloody Picasso painted it.”

Miles shook his head but he kept smiling. “Just wait till you see it, man. It’s gorgeous.” He turned back to Alex. “You gonna let us in then?”

Alex didn’t move. He’d widened his stance, blocking off the entrance with both arms. His chest was tightening with a rising sense of panic. “Uhhh– you can’t come in right now, actually. There’s a– the house is being fumigated.”

Miles blinked at him. “Fumigated?”

“Yeah, you know, for pests and that. There’s… ants everywhere. There’s a nest somewhere, probably. I had to call a guy this morning.”

“Oh. That’s shit, man. But can’t we just whip in right quick and–”

Alex stepped outside and shut the door behind him. “Nope, there’s chemicals. Bad ones. You don’t want to breathe that stuff in. We can’t go back inside for at least five hours, the guy said. I were just leaving meself.”

Miles frowned. “But will the painting be alright with all that crap being sprayed around? We wouldn’t want it getting damaged–”

“It’s safe, Miles, it’s wrapped up.” Alex flung his arm around Miles’s shoulders and steered him firmly down the steps. “Come on, I’m starving.”

“Well, alright then. But I could come round and see it tomorrow, yeah?”

“Right, tomorrow. I just need to, you know, get it hung up and stuff. I’ll call you when it’s done.”

Miles’s smile returned. He hooked his arm around Alex’s waist and squeezed him closer. “How about cheeseburgers for lunch then? My treat.”

“You better be including me in that offer,” Matt said.

Alex attempted to smile and joke along as the three of them took a short cut across the park in the direction of the tube station. He found it no easy task. His body fizzed with anxiety and he barely registered the journey or the conversation as Miles and Matt got into a debate over which of the many burger restaurants in Shoreditch was the best one. It hardly mattered. He’d completely lost his appetite.

They exited the tube to the accompaniment of beeps and the clunk of the barriers and Alex followed Miles and Matt down the busy high street towards whichever burger place had been designated. His mind ran on, searching for solutions. His ridiculous excuse that his house was under siege from ants had saved him for today, but the problem was tomorrow, and the rest of the week after that. He couldn’t risk Miles coming round again if he was going to keep demanding to see the picture. He had to keep Miles away from the picture at all costs. But how? It would mean finding plausible excuses for a whole week until it was time for him to leave for Germany. How the hell was he going to manage that?


	4. Chapter 4

Alex’s phone was ringing again. The screen flashed up a picture of Miles, all big eyes and cheeky smile. Alex let it ring, his hands pressed to his ears to drown out the vibration of the device against the kitchen table. When it stopped he flicked through his notifications. The new total stood at seven missed calls and innumerable unanswered text messages.

Christ. His well of excuses had long since run dry. He’d claimed illness and a migraine at first to dissuade Miles from visiting, and that had been pretty successful until Miles had started threatening to come over with chicken soup and lemon tea. Alex had been forced to admit that he was actually feeling much better. After that he’d pretended to be out whenever Miles called him, until Miles suggested he could come over anyway and use his spare key. Alex told him that he’d changed the locks.

And now, with three days still to go until the band left for Germany, Alex had resorted to the last remaining option; the one he’d wanted most of all to avoid. He was screening all Miles’s calls and ignoring him completely.

The phone started to ring again. Miles was nothing if not persistent. He was also extremely hard to say no to, which only increased the danger. Alex didn’t dare speak to him. In his current state, he knew he would cave immediately if Miles so much as used the word _please_. God, but he wanted to hear Miles tell him _please_.

He left the phone ringing, went into the hall and climbed the stairs to the landing where the ladder to the loft hung down like a stairway to temptation. It rattled as he climbed it, hand over hand before pushing himself up into the dim space above. It was drafty in the roof, colder than the rest of the house. Cobwebs clung to the rafters and dust coated the boxes of memorabilia and junk which he would never get around to sorting out.

The picture leant up against the furthest wall. Its sheath of protective cloth had already dulled in the dusty air, but underneath the soft material he knew that the paint was as vivid as ever. He hadn’t been able to leave the picture alone. It haunted his thoughts and his dreams and he’d been compelled to keep visiting it, to check it for the changes that he knew would be there. His heart had beat in sync with every new brush stroke, and whenever he’d lost himself in romantic notions, or in memories of Miles’s past hugs and platonic kisses, or indeed in recollections of any moment that they’d spent together, the consequences had been wrought upon the surface of the canvas.

He went to the picture now and carefully liberated it from its prison of parcel tape. He tugged the cloth aside, and winced. There was a new expression on the face of his double which had been growing for the past few days. It was awful to look at, but he couldn’t make himself stop. It was a masochistic itch which demanded to be scratched. There was pain in his double’s painted eyes now, pain and guilt and thwarted desire, and it was worse for the fact that he knew it was self-inflicted. His heart ached at the prospect of leaving the country for six long months without seeing Miles once more, without hearing his laugh, without touching him or hugging him goodbye. But what choice did he have? It was either that, or risk discovery.

He turned away from the pathetic longing on his own painted face and focused instead on the portrait of Miles. It gazed out at him with no such turbulent emotions. It hadn’t changed at all except to grow brighter and more beautiful. On his frequent visits to the loft, Alex had found himself sitting before the picture for an hour at a time, simply bathing in the light of that alluring smile. It had puzzled him at first. He had wondered why Miles’s expression didn’t change like his own did, but at last he’d concluded that Miles couldn’t be bound to the picture in the same way that he himself was. If Miles had been bound to the picture, his double’s face would no doubt have been warped with annoyance by now, given Alex’s efforts to both avoid and ignore him. No, it seemed clear that the picture was bound to Alex and to Alex alone. And if the image of Miles just so happened to be growing more beautiful with each passing day? Well, it could only be down to what Alex privately believed in his own heart to be true.

The doorbell buzzed from downstairs and made him jump. He spun around and hesitated, listening. Who was that at the door? He wasn’t expecting anybody, and it was only Miles who had a habit of dropping by unannounced. It was only Miles from whom Alex tolerated that kind of behaviour. He waited for the bell to ring again, or for the sound of a fist pounding on the door, but nothing happened. There was only silence.

He uncoiled himself from his defensive posture, threw the cloth back over the picture and taped it down firmly. He climbed backwards down the ladder and pushed it back up into the ceiling after him. He trod gingerly down the stairs and all the way up to the front door before placing his eye to the peephole. There was no one out there, but he thought he could see the edge of a package on the front step.

He pulled open the door. There was indeed a small box outside. It was a white Krispy Kreme takeaway box which he definitely hadn’t ordered. He picked it up and flipped the lid to reveal eleven pink glazed doughnuts, and one empty space where a doughnut should have been.

_Oh no._

His hand was reaching to pull the door shut, but it was already too late. There was a rustle of foliage and Miles sprang out from behind the bush at the bottom of the steps. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt patterned with pink and orange flowers and it matched the pink doughnut that he held in his hand. He grinned and took a bite out of it.

“So you _are_ home, then,” he said. “I’ve been calling you, why don’t you answer your phone?”

“Uhh… sorry, I– it ran out of battery and I lost me charger.”

Miles rolled his eyes. “I’ve been texting you for days. You could’ve come over and told me.”

“Didn’t want to turn up uninvited, did I?”

Miles mounted the steps and pulled Alex into a hug, crushing the Krispy Kreme box between them. “Don’t be stupid, Alex, you’re always invited. You know that.”

Alex wriggled out of his grip. “You’re killing the doughnuts.”

“We’d better eat them then. Come on.” Miles took the box and moved past him into the house before Alex could protest. He marched straight into the living room and stood looking around with an expectant expression. “Where’s our picture, then? Thought you would have got it hung by now.”

“I would have, but– the light’s not right in here.”

Miles looked at him quizzically. “The light?”

“Yeah, it’s too strong. Didn’t want the sun to fade the paint.”

“So where’ve you hung it instead, in the upstairs hallway? Or the bedroom?”

“Uhh–”

Miles chucked the doughnut box on to the coffee table and went back out into the hall. Alex heard him mounting the stairs and then there was the creak of footsteps overhead as Miles went into his bedroom. After a minute the footsteps retreated and Miles thumped back downstairs. He reappeared in the living room doorway.

“Where is it, Alex?”

“I put it away for now. Don’t worry, it’s safe.”

“Safe from what, being looked at? Come on, I want to snap a pic of it for me Instagram.”

Alex’s stomach clenched. Miles wanted to put the picture up on the bloody internet? No, that was impossible. The whole world would find out his secret. He couldn’t allow it.

“You can’t take photos of it, it’s all wrapped up and packed away.”

Miles stared at him. “Why? Where’ve you put it? Come on Al, tell me.” He came further into the room and stood in front of Alex, his brow furrowed and his gaze serious. The full impact of those huge brown eyes was too much to take. Alex could feel his resolve crumbling. He steeled himself and took a step backwards.

“I’d rather you didn’t put it online, actually. Or show people.”

“Eh? Why not? We looked great in it, why shouldn’t we show people? It’s a gorgeous bit of art, man, everyone will love it–”

“Oh come on, Miles, it weren’t that good.”

Miles stopped. “Wait. You don’t like the picture?”

“I didn’t say that–”

“But you don’t, do you? If you liked it you would’ve put it up on the wall by now. Where’ve you hidden it? Don’t tell me you shoved it up with all the junk in the bloody roof or something.”

Alex’s eyes widened before he could stop them. He saw Miles’s eyes grow wider in turn.

“Seriously, that’s where you put it, in the _loft_? How’s anyone ever supposed to see it there, Alex?”

“They won’t, alright? That’s the whole point.”

“But–”

“Look, I’ve put it in the loft and that’s where it’s staying. Just leave it alone. Like I said, it weren’t even that good a picture, Miles, so it don’t matter if no one sees it, does it?”

They stared at each other in silence. Every muscle in Alex’s body had gone rigid. He was ready to dart forward at the slightest hint that Miles was about to make for the stairs, but Miles didn’t move. He looked just as tense as Alex was. The silence lengthened.

Miles at last broke eye contact. His shoulders sagged and he seemed to deflate. “Well, I guess you’re right then.”

“What?”

“If the picture’s not that good, there’s no point in anyone else seeing it.”

“That’s not– oh.”

Alex went quiet. He fumbled for some other words, but nothing came. Miles had just chucked him for a loop. He’d been psyched up to defend himself with resistance and counter-arguments. He hadn’t been expecting Miles simply to cave in and agree with him. He ducked his head, searching for some clue in Miles’s eyes, but Miles wouldn’t look at him.

“Think I’m gonna head off, then,” Miles said.

“But you only just got here. Stay a bit, I’ll make some coffee to go with the doughnuts.”

“Nah. Just remembered, I got some shit to do.”

Miles turned away and Alex’s heart contracted. They couldn’t part like this. It was wrong on every level. Alex was about to leave the country for six months for Christ’s sake. He followed Miles out of the room and up the hall.

“How about tomorrow afternoon, then? There’s this band playing down the Scolt Head, someone Matt’s heard about. Me and him are gonna go check ‘em out if you want to join?”

“Can’t. Got a studio day booked tomorrow. And the day after.”

“Oh. But– but you’ll come over and see me before I leave, right?”

Miles opened the front door. He stood illuminated for a moment in the rectangle of sunlight and looked back over his shoulder at Alex. Alex’s gut twisted. There was pain in Miles’s eyes, dark and unmistakable. It was like someone had carved a hole right through the middle of his normally sunny exterior.

“I dunno, man,” he said, and he gave a little shrug. “I guess I’ll see ya when I see ya.”

And with that he was out of the door and down the steps. He walked briskly away across the road.

* * *

Alex sat hunched on a stool at the end of the bar, his fingers cold from where he’d wrapped them round his pint glass. He’d been nursing the same drink for half an hour and yet the glass was still three quarters full.

He wiped his damp fingers on his jeans and snuck a look over his shoulder. The pub was quiet for a Saturday afternoon; aside from Matt and himself, there were only a few locals and the band who were busy warming up in the corner. A guy with a hipster beard and a Gibson acoustic was warbling away at some mournful love song, and Christ but Alex wished he would stop it. He wasn't in the fucking mood. Why did it always have to come down to that with songs, anyway? Heartache and heartbreak. As if there were nothing else in whole wide bloody world worth writing about.

He lifted his pint to his lips, then changed his mind and set it down without drinking it.

“Oi,” Matt said in a low voice.

Alex glanced at him. Matt had turned away from the band and was no longer tapping out a jaunty rhythm on his knees. His hands had gone still and he was looking at Alex with a concerned expression. “You alright?” he said. “What’s the face for?” He lifted a quizzical eyebrow and leant back on his stool.

“’M fine. It's just me face.”

“Come off it, Al. I know what your face looks like, and that one’s even worse than usual. What’s the matter?”

“Nowt.”

Matt sighed. “Let me guess. Did you and Miles have a fight yesterday?”

Alex turned sharply and his beer slopped on to the bar. “Why would you say that? Did he say summat to you?”

“No. But he’s not here is he? And you’ve got a face like a smacked arse. It doesn't take much to put two and two together.”

Alex grimaced. Why did Matt have to be so bloody observant all the time? He swallowed down a spark of temper, kept his mouth shut and hunched back over his pint. The last thing he needed was to add an argument with Matt to his fast growing list of problems. He picked up a napkin and pretended to be occupied in dabbing up the puddle of beer.

Matt pointed at Alex’s hand. “Nice ring,” he said. “New, is it?”

Alex glanced to where Matt was pointing. Miles's ring shone a deep polished brown against his paler skin. His cheeks turned warm. He hadn't taken the damn thing off since Miles had slipped it on to his finger nearly a week ago. “Yeah. It is. Miles– we got it in Brighton.”

"Yeah, I figured."

Alex stopped dabbing with the napkin. There was an odd tone to Matt's voice. He looked up to find Matt watching him. "What?"

Matt shrugged. “Nothing, really. Although– you can tell me to fuck off if you want, but there’s summat I’ve been meaning to ask you–”

Alex's phone vibrated loudly against the bar. He snatched it up so quick that it nearly went crashing to the floor. “Hang on a minute.”

Matt made a face. “Well alright then, I’ll just wait.” He turned back to watch the band. Alex ignored him and thumbed eagerly at the device, but upon unlocking the screen his brief hope was dashed. The text message was only from Jamie.

_Is it okay if I come over and grab them tools out your kitchen? Need them for some DIY._

Alex tapped back a response. _Not home. In the pub with Helders. Let yourself in with your key._

His phone buzzed again. _Does it work? Miles said you changed the locks._

Alex winced. Trust Miles to have mentioned that. The whole band probably knew about it, and about Alex’s imaginary ant invasion and his fake migraines too. Not that it mattered of course; it wasn’t like his dubious mistruths were a big secret. But he ought to have known that Miles wouldn’t keep such trivial details to himself. Miles liked to talk. It was part of what made him Miles.

_Right, yeah, I forgot,_ Alex typed. _There’s a key under the red plant pot, use that._

He closed the app and went to put the phone down, but then it buzzed again.

_Hey, are you and Miles fighting? I’m in the studio with him now and he just went all tight-lipped and weird when I mentioned your name._

Alex’s stomach plummeted. He stared at the message. Miles being tight-lipped? That didn’t sound like him. Christ, was Miles still that angry with him over yesterday? He knew he’d hurt Miles’s feelings by claiming he didn’t like their picture, but he’d expected him to bounce back from it pretty quick. It wasn’t like him to make a big fuss over a minor grievance. Unless… unless of course Miles didn’t see it as a minor grievance.

Alex began to feel slightly sick. Miles’s last words to him yesterday had been upsetting, but he hadn’t set too much store by them. He’d expected Miles to take a day to cool off to be sure, but he’d never imagined that Miles might actually have meant what he said. That he might really refuse to see Alex one more time before Alex had to leave.

Alex read the message again. _Tight-lipped_. Miles was never tight-lipped. It was one of the things Alex loved best about him. He loved to hear what Miles was thinking and feeling; about the deep stuff, the little stuff, the stupid stuff. Miles could talk all day long as far as Alex was concerned, and he’d never get bored of listening.

Jamie was still waiting for him to reply. Alex texted a quick _forget it, it’s fine_ and then turned off his phone. He jammed the device into his back pocket. He didn’t want to face any awkward questions. He needed space to re-assess the damage. He needed to think.

“Al? You ever gonna drink that?”

Alex glanced down at his barely touched pint. His stomach lurched like he was on a boat. “No, here, you have it.” He pushed the glass across the bar and Matt picked it up with raised eyebrows.

“Bloody hell. You two really did have a fight, didn’t you?”

“God, Matt, do me a favour. Please just leave it be.”

Matt took a sip of the beer and set the glass down. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But whatever happened, I’m sure you’ll work it out wi’ him. You know you will, right?”

Alex shook his head. He stared blankly at the packets of salted peanuts hung up behind the bar. The thought of food made him feel even sicker. “No, actually. I don’t think I do.”

“Oh come on, Al. You know there’s nothing that’d keep the two of you apart. Whatever it is, it’ll blow over. Miles cares about you.”

Alex turned his head. Matt was looking at him with an exasperated smile. There was something else in his expression too, something Alex couldn’t quite grasp. “You think so?”

Matt rolled his eyes. “For Chrissake Alex, of course he does. It’s obvious. Everyone else can see it, why can’t you?” He reached out and squeezed Alex’s shoulder. “Cheer up, yeah? It’ll be okay, you’ll see. Meantime, why don’t you order us some chips or summat? I’m gonna go for a piss.”

Matt downed another swallow of Alex’s drink, then pushed himself upright and sauntered off to the gents. Alex twisted on his bar stool and turned to watch him go.

* * *

Two hours later and Alex was at home with his feet up on the coffee table, still mulling over Matt’s declaration. _Miles cares about you_. His cup of tea had grown cold while he pondered that simple statement, and now the heat of the day was likewise beginning to fade out of the afternoon.

Matt was right, of course. Miles did care about him. Alex was hardly blind to that, how could he be? But Miles cared about him as a friend, nothing more than that, and if Alex continued on much longer in his fantasies then his messy feelings were going to jeopardise that friendship.

The fantasies had to stop. He couldn’t keep on wishing for impossible things. He was only going to end up hurting himself if he did, and hurting Miles too. The whole drama with the picture had proven that.

The picture. He shuddered to think of it, sitting up there in the roof, mocking him with his own unrequited desires. It was the picture’s fault. It was the picture that had caused this rift between the two of them. It had made manifest all his secret hopes, all his yearning, everything which should have remained forever locked away in his heart. As long as that picture still existed, he’d never be able to bury his feelings for Miles. And as long as the picture existed, there was always the risk that Miles might find out the truth.

Alex stood up. It was obvious what he had to do. If Miles did care about him, then he cared about him more than some stupid picture. It was the picture that had started all this, and now it had to go.

Alex went into the kitchen and chose a large knife from the rack beside the toaster. He ran his thumb along the blade to check its sharpness. It would do. Miles would be a bit upset, of course, when he heard about Alex’s carelessness. But Alex would make it up to him. He’d buy Miles some new designer trainers. Or maybe take him on holiday again – any place but Brighton. They would be okay. They would be friends again, and everything would go back to normal.

He went into the hall and mounted the stairs to the landing with the knife in his hand. He pulled down the metal ladder and climbed up carefully, placing the knife on the lip of the entrance before hauling himself up into the space. He bent to retrieve it and paused a moment to steel himself. He was not enamoured with the task at hand. There was no pleasure to be had in destroying something beautiful. Still, it had to be done. For the sake of their friendship, it had to be done.

He turned and faced the spot where the picture stood. Or, at least, the spot where the picture had stood only a few short hours before. His grip went slack. The knife fell from his hand and clattered across the boards. There was nothing up here but cobwebs. Cobwebs and a conspicuously empty space.


	5. Chapter 5

Alex reversed down the ladder so fast he nearly slipped and went sprawling. He landed with a graceless bump, pounded down the stairs to the living room and snatched up his phone from the coffee table. It took a million years to turn itself on. His heart was in his mouth as the screen flashed back to life.

No missed calls. No messages. What the fuck did that mean?

He hit Jamie’s number and pressed the phone to his ear. The dial tone elongated itself endlessly.

“Pick up for fuck’s sake, _pick up_.”

The phone rang a couple more times. Then, finally, there was a voice.

“Alright, Al, what’s up? How was the pub gig?”

“Forget the gig, I need to ask you summat. Did Miles come round to the house with you earlier?”

“Erm, no, he were busy in the studio all day. I left him to it. Why d’ya ask?”

Alex hesitated. How could he phrase this without making it sound like an accusation? “Did you… when you came over, did you take anything else with you apart from the tools in the kitchen?”

“Oh, you mean the picture?”

Alex’s stomach plunged like a stone. He gripped hold of the doorframe. He felt sure he was about to be sick. “Fucking hell, Jamie. Why did you take it? Christ, you didn’t look at it did you?”

There was a clatter on Jamie’s end of the line and the sound of a female voice. “Yeah, just a minute, I’m on the phone,” Jamie shouted, his voice gone distant for a second. Then he was back in Alex’s ear. “Nah, I didn’t look at it,” he said. “Why would I? It were all sealed up with black tape and stuff. And whatcha mean why’d I take it? Miles said you wanted him to have it.”

“He said _what_?”

“Yeah, he asked me to pick it up for him, and I said fine since I was coming over yours anyway. I dropped it round to his flat a couple hours ago. Why, what’s the matter?”

Alex’s vision blurred. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor. Everything was much too bright. The rapid thump of his heart was like a freight train rattling through his ears. “Jamie, listen to me. Where is Miles now?”

“I dunno. I’m guessing still at the studio. He said he were going at it till six.”

Alex stared at his watch. It was half past five. “Fuck. I gotta go, catch you later.”

“But Al, what the fu–”

Alex hung up the phone. He was already half way to the front door, his keys in his hand, his heart in his throat. Sixty seconds later he was in the car and on his way over to Miles’s.

* * *

It was a quarter to six. Alex dumped the car, parking it crooked with its front wheel hitched up on the curb. He broke into a jog as he neared Miles’s building and didn’t pause as he let himself in with his spare key. Once inside, he marched straight across the lobby and mounted the stairs, too impatient to wait for the lift. He only ceased his hurried pace when he reached Miles’s front door, and it was only then that it occurred to him that Miles might already be home.

He reached out and rapped softly on the door. He waited a precious minute and then knocked again, a little harder. There was no response. He unlocked the door and let himself in.

It was dim inside. Miles had left the blinds half slanted across the living room windows to keep out the afternoon sun. The place was pretty tidy apart from the guitar resting on the sofa and a stack of vinyl piled up on the floor. There was no sign of the picture.

Alex prowled swiftly from the living room to the kitchen, but the picture wasn’t there either. That meant it could only be in the bedroom.

The door to the bedroom was shut and Alex eased it open with exaggerated carefulness, just in case Miles was home after all and simply taking a nap. But the room was empty, the bed was made, and leaning against the wall wrapped in its black cloth was the object Alex was looking for.

He felt the tension in his shoulders deflate. Thank god, the picture was still taped up and Miles wasn’t here, so that meant he couldn’t have seen it yet. All Alex had to do was get the damn thing out of here pronto, and then preferably feed it straight into a cement mixer or throw it under a train.

He skirted the edge of the bed and grabbed hold of the picture. His hands shook a little. Christ, he’d been so close to being found out. It was hard to believe that Miles had actually pulled a stunt like this. He’d never been one for subterfuge or deceit. What the hell had possessed him to circumnavigate Alex’s wishes in order to steal the picture? He must have known that Alex would find out. Just as he’d know that it was Alex who’d stolen the picture back. That was an unhappy thought. There was going to be fallout from this, and the last thing Alex wanted was yet another reason for the two of them to fight. There was only one thing he wanted less than that, and that was for Miles to ever lay eyes on this accursed picture again.

It was five minutes to six.

Alex hefted the picture beneath his arm. As he did so, he heard a soft click. He felt a puff of warm air against his back. He smelt something, a whiff of citrus soap and aftershave. An aftershave he knew all too well.

_Oh no. No, no, no._

“Alex?”

Alex turned stiffly, like his body was stuck on a rotating platform over which he had no control. Behind him, the door to the ensuite bathroom had swung open and in the doorway stood Miles in a cloud of sweet-scented steam. He had a fluffy yellow towel knotted around his waist and his dark hair was curling damply around his ears.

“What the hell are you doing?” he said.

“Nowt.”

“Don’t give me that. You’re trying to steal the picture, aren’t you?”

“That’s pretty rich coming from you, Miles.”

Miles flushed bright pink and the colour spread all the way from his cheeks to his chest. Alex tried not to notice. Now was not the bloody time to be admiring how Miles looked or how much the blush became him, let alone the attractive way that the muscles in his stomach tightened as he stepped closer to the bed, his eyes dancing with anger.

“That picture is as much mine as it is yours, Alex. I’d every right to take it.”

“You mean you had every right to send Jamie to do your dirty work for you?”

Miles went even redder. His hands bunched into fists. “I don’t see why you’re making this a big deal. You don’t even _like_ the bloody picture. If you don’t want it, why can’t I have it?”

“It doesn’t fucking matter.”

“It matters to _me_.” Miles came even closer. His skin glistened with tiny droplets of water. “Give it back, Alex. I won’t show it to anyone if you don’t want me to, but you don’t get to lock it away in a dark room just ‘cause you don’t like it.”

Alex retreated until his back hit the wall. He held the picture tighter. “You can’t have it. It’s a godawful picture and I’m fucking binning it as soon as I get home.”

“Like hell you are.” Miles leapt forward and seized hold of the picture frame. “Fucking give it.”

“Let go!”

“No chance.”

They began to struggle, pulling the picture back and forth between them. Miles’s bare feet skidded across the carpet as Alex tried to wrest the picture away from him, but Alex had nowhere to go with the wall at his back and Miles was fucking strong.

“Bloody well let go before you break it, Alex!”

No sooner had Miles spoken than there was a soft ripping sound, as of tape becoming unstuck. Alex’s stomach lurched. The tape was tearing. The protective cloth was bunching and slipping. Alex made a grab for it, but he was too late. The cloth sagged on to the carpet and tangled under Miles’s feet.

“Miles, stop!”

Too late again. Miles gave the picture frame one almighty yank, his arm muscles flexing, and suddenly the picture was bare and the two painted faces were gazing out into the room as though wondering what the fuck was going on. Alex dropped the picture as if it were hot and Miles stumbled backwards until he collided with the bed. He sat there dazed, still gripping the picture tight with both hands and staring directly at the image on the canvas. Alex watched his eyes widen.

“Al… what is this?”

Alex buried his face. God. It was all over now. His secret. Their friendship. It was all of it up in flames. Christ, he couldn’t bear it. How was he ever going to recover from this? How was he supposed to carry on, without Miles as his best friend?

He sank down against the wall. He didn’t even dare to look up. He couldn’t face seeing the confusion in Miles’s eyes, or worse, the distaste. “Miles, I’m sorry,” he mumbled into his own fingers. “I didn’t… you weren’t supposed to–” He cut himself off and went back to silence. There were no excuses. None that would save him. There was nothing more to be said.

He heard the creak of bedsprings. Miles was on his feet. Alex watched from the corner of his eye as Miles set the painting down in front of them, leaning it up against the side of the bed. It was miraculously undamaged, the colours as bright as ever, and the love-struck desire on Alex’s painted face was matched in its vivacity only by the brushstrokes that brought Miles to life in all his stunning beauty.

Miles padded over to where Alex was sitting. He crouched down beside him and leant back against the wall. “What are you sorry for?”

“That… that thing there. I know how it looks.”

“It looks… a bit different than I remember. Is that why you didn’t want anyone to see it?”

Alex nodded bleakly.

Miles scruffed a hand back through his hair. He began to tap his fingers against one leg, the way he always did when he was agitated. Alex’s heart grew heavier watching him. He wished he could take Miles’s hand, make him be still, but he didn’t dare. They sat in an uncomfortable silence.

Finally, Miles spoke. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll wrap the picture back up and I’ll put it away, some place where no one will see it. I’ll keep it safe. And you can just forget that it even exists. How about that?”

Alex looked up. “Why would you want to _keep_ it? Just let me take it, Miles. I’ll tear it up, or I’ll paint over it and–”

“Don’t, Alex. Just– just don’t make it worse, please. I get that you hate it, or you’re ashamed of it, whatever, that’s fine. But I’m not gonna let you destroy it. You– it’s–” Miles broke off and rubbed a hand across his eyes.

“Miles, what–”

“Look, it’s not yours to destroy, okay? So I’ll keep it, and you can just forget about it, or do whatever the hell you want.” He stood abruptly and snatched up the black cloth from the floor. He began pulling off the torn bits of tape and shaking out the creases.

Alex got shakily to his feet. “Wait, Miles. I’m– I’m not ashamed of the picture.”

“No? So you’re just ashamed of our relationship in general, then?” Miles tugged at the cloth and it ripped. “Well don’t worry, message received. Fucking loud and clear.”

“No, Miles. Jesus. That’s not it.”

“You were going to destroy it!” Miles flung the cloth back on to the floor. His eyes had a tempest in them. He was breathing heavily.

“Yeah, but only because I were trying to protect us, to save _you_ from– from–”

“From _what_ , Alex?”

Alex looked away. It was too hard to make eye contact. Instead, his gaze returned to the picture, to its colours and its shadows. Miles’s portrait was as gorgeous as ever, but it still paled in comparison to Miles here in the flesh, with his soft hair drying into unruly tendrils and his tanned skin bare but for that stupid fucking towel.

“I– I wouldn’t have destroyed it.”

Alex bit down on his lip. The words had spilled out without forethought, but now he knew it was a fact. Even now, the picture captivated him. Even now, whilst he despaired at its exposure of his secret, he revelled in its truth. It turned the tangled web of words and emotions inside him into something simple and beautiful.

“I wouldn’t have destroyed it,” he repeated, just to hear himself say the words again. “And you’re wrong, I don’t hate it, and I’m not ashamed of it either. Because the truth is…” He stopped and cleared his throat. His blood was rushing. He could taste his own heartbeat. “The truth is, Miles… that’s not just a portrait of us. It’s my heart and soul. It’s my heart and soul in that picture.”

There was a long drawn-out pause.

Miles was still and quiet. He was staring at the floor with a deep frown. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying.”

“Christ, Miles. Do I really have to spell it out? Look, I know it’s a lot, and I know you don’t– that you’re not inclined that way, but–”

Miles snorted. “Is that s’posed to be funny?”

“What?”

Miles finally looked up, and Alex felt a jolt of surprise. Miles looked like he was fighting for self-control. His eyes were damp and there was a naked vulnerability to his expression that Alex had never seen before. It was as though a theatre curtain had been pulled aside and Miles had stepped out from behind a shadow screen to reveal a shape utterly unlike the one projected on the outward surface. He rubbed at his eyes again and swallowed audibly.

“Hey,” Alex said. “Hey, stop. Are you crying?”

“No.”

Miles choked on the word and Alex flew to his side. “Oh Miles, hey. Come on, don’t. What happened, what’s the matter?”

Miles shook his head. “You– you can’t say things like that to me.”

“Say what? What do you mean?”

“Please stop messing with me, Alex. You must know I’ve got feelings for you. Christ, for years I’ve felt– I mean, ever since those two weeks in France… fuck, probably even before that. I know you’ve guessed. And the fact you’ve never said anything… I always thought it meant that you weren’t interested in– in anything like that.” Miles stopped and frowned. “What are you looking at me like that for? Jesus, Al, are you telling me you _didn’t_ know? Come on, don’t tell me you thought I was _straight_.”

“What? Well, yeah I– I just assumed– fuck, Miles, why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I thought you knew!”

“Bloody hell, of course I didn’t! You’ve always had girls hanging off you, I thought–”

“I never said I was gay. I just said I’m not straight.” Miles shrugged and looked down at his feet. “It’s not like I keep it _that_ low key.”

Alex didn’t reply. His thoughts were reeling. His brain was feeding him memories of nights out from the past. Memories of Miles getting drunk and silly with strangers on the dancefloor, men as well as women. Memories of him flirting outrageously with doormen and bar staff, which Alex had always taken for a joke. The recollection of Miles’s easy physical affection with everyone, regardless of gender, which Alex had never sought to question. It had always just been part of who Miles was; Miles the exuberant, extroverted, people-loving party animal.

But now Miles was staring at the ground. There was gooseflesh rising on his bare skin as he fidgeted with his fingers and he was avoiding Alex’s gaze. Alex realised that he’d never seen him look so nervous.

“Miles, do you…” He stopped and took a breath. Tried again. “Do you really have feelings for me?”

Miles nodded miserably. “Why’d you think I wanted the stupid bloody picture in the first place? Why’d you think I went and got it back?”

Alex held himself steady. His skin was tingling all over. Miles was still not looking at him. “I really wish you’d told me.”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference, Al. Admit it, you’ve never been into that side of things. I know you haven’t. I don’t know what all this is about, but I don’t think you know how this feels.”

“Miles look at me.”

Miles ignored the instruction. He stared resolutely at his feet. He was tapping his fingers in that agitated way and it made Alex want to grab hold of him again. He reached out and tilted Miles’s chin ever so gently upwards until Miles was looking him in the face.

“If you’d told me, it would have made a difference. Okay?”

“What… exactly are you saying? That you…?”

Alex forced himself to keep looking Miles in the eye. “Yeah, I have– I’ve always had, you know, that kind of interest. But it’s never been big enough before to be worth pursuing.”

Miles swallowed. “Oh.” There was a quiet pause while he seemed to process the information. His fingers curled into his palms. His eyes didn’t leave Alex’s face. “And… what about now?”

“Look at the painting, Miles. I told you. That’s my heart.”

Miles shook his head, as if he still didn’t comprehend what Alex was telling him. His gaze flicked between Alex and the picture. “Then, why didn’t you want me to see it?”

“I didn’t want you to find out. I was afraid that you wouldn’t want– you know…”

“Bloody hell,” Miles said softly. “You’re an idiot, Alex.”

Alex managed a weak smile. “Yeah, but you knew that already.”

Miles snorted, but he didn’t smile back. His fingers were twitching restlessly and Alex couldn’t bear the sight anymore. He reached out and took both of Miles’s hands in his own. He pressed his thumbs into Miles’s palms and began to rub them. Miles went still at once. His eyes had grown huge and he looked like he wanted to faint. It made Alex’s stomach flutter to see him like that, so diffident and unlike his usual cocky self. It made him feel bolder. He reached up and brushed the back of his knuckles across Miles’s cheek.

“Can I tell you something?”

Miles nodded without speaking. His eyelids fluttered as Alex squeezed his hand tighter.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a really long time. Would you let me?”

Miles’s eyes went even wider. For a moment he didn’t answer. Just stared at Alex as though he’d lost the power of speech. Alex squeezed his hand again. Miles blinked. He swallowed and then cleared his throat. “Yes,” he whispered. “God. Please, yes.”

Alex’s heart thumped against his ribcage. Now he was the one who probably looked like he was about to pass out. He was going to kiss Miles. And Miles wanted him to. Fuck, Miles _wanted_ him to. His heartbeat began to race. He took a step closer and breathed in the scent of Miles’s citrus shower gel. He could feel the heat radiating from Miles’s skin like an aura. He reached for him and cupped a tentative hand to his neck. Miles stared back at him like a deer in headlights.

“Hey,” Alex whispered. “Come ‘ere.” He pulled Miles towards him and Miles came with no resistance at all. They looked at each other for one endless moment, and then Alex leaned into him, and kissed him.

It was a gentle kiss, soft and chaste as they both adjusted to the feel of each other. Then Miles made a sound, a surprised sort of murmur, and he opened his mouth and suddenly Alex could taste him. He could feel Miles’s tongue pressing against his own, could feel the roughness of Miles’s stubble against his cheek, and then all at once they were kissing with a fervour and it was like someone had flipped a switch and fired an electrical current straight down Alex’s spine. He curled his fingers tight in Miles’s hair and deepened the kiss, exploring every inch of Miles’s mouth with a mounting urgency. His stomach flipped clean over as Miles kissed him back just as hard and then his body pulsed with heat as Miles uttered a low and needy moan.

Alex pushed him backwards and they collided with the bed. They sank down on to the mattress, clutching at each other with fingers and with fists, kissing as though the world was coming to an end. Alex couldn’t even pause for breath, he couldn’t stop, and Miles’s hands were on his back, and on his waist, and in his hair. He moved to grab hold of Miles’s thigh, and it was then that he remembered that Miles was completely naked beneath the yellow towel knotted round his hips. He made himself stop. Jerked back from their kiss with a sharp breath. He stared into Miles’s eyes. Miles grabbed hold of his hand.

“Al? What’s wrong?”

“No, nothing. It’s just… is this okay? I– I feel like I have you at a disadvantage.”

Miles glanced down at his partial state of dress, and then back up at Alex. His eyes were so big and black, they seemed to fill his whole face. “You don’t need to worry about that. Trust me.”

“Oh. In that case–” Alex dove in to kiss him again. Miles fisted his hand in Alex’s shirt and pulled him closer, kissing him back, and the slide of his tongue began to make Alex giddy. Miles’s mouth was like a furnace and he kissed like he was insatiable, like he was hungry for every kiss Alex had to give him, like it would never be enough. Without thinking, Alex slipped a hand beneath the edge of the towel and slid his fingers over Miles’s bare skin. Miles was warm and solid, and when Alex ran his fingertips along the edge of his thigh, Miles reacted with another surprised murmur. God, it made Alex want him. He wanted every part of him. He wanted him so fucking bad.

“Miles, do you– do you want to–”

“Yes,” Miles said without waiting for him to finish. His voice was low and breathless.

“You don’t even know what I’m asking.”

“There’s nothing you can ask that I’ll say no to.”

“Oh Christ.” Alex pulled him in and kissed him again. “Keep saying stuff like that and you’re going to kill me.”

Miles laughed into the kiss. He pulled away and broke into a sudden grin, and the sight of it was like the sun breaking through the clouds on a winter day. It made Alex ache for him. He felt like he had waited forever for that smile, for the glint of mischief in those brown eyes.

He pushed Miles backwards on to the bed, his fist clamping around the knot in the towel and tugging it loose, and then his hands were everywhere, tracing the curves of Miles’s body, his chest, his abs, his narrow hips. He pressed his mouth to Miles’s skin and dragged his teeth across it and Miles responded with a low yelp, thrusting his hand into Alex’s hair and tugging him closer so that they were kissing again, Alex now sprawled on top of Miles fully clothed while Miles lay naked beneath him, pressed down into the mattress.

Miles’s hands went to Alex’s hips, tugging at his belt. “Get these off.”

“Yeah.”

Alex began struggling with his clothes, unwilling to stop kissing Miles for even a second. Two pairs of hands divested him of trousers and shirt and his stuff clattered to the floor. Something fell over with a thump but neither of them looked. Miles kept kissing him with a frantic energy and Alex gave as good as he got; he pushed Miles back down into the bed and licked into his mouth, holding him in place with his bodyweight.

Miles moaned as they pressed against each other, skin to skin, and he began touching Alex all over; his hands were hot against Alex’s sides and his neck, and Alex hardly had time to process the speed at which they'd reached this point. But it was no surprise that Miles approached sex the same way he did most things; at full tilt and with no holds barred. Keeping up with him felt sometimes like trying to leap aboard a moving train, but while Alex was exhilarated by it and usually happy to make the leap and enjoy the ride, this time it was different.

“Hey,” Alex breathed into Miles’s mouth. Kissed him again. “Slow down a bit.”

Miles stopped and opened his eyes. He was panting for breath, his face flushed a beautiful pink. “Is– is it too much?”

“No.” Alex reassured him with another kiss. “But I don’t want this to be over. I want to take my time with you.”

“Take anything you want.” Miles leaned up to kiss him again, but Alex pushed him back down.

“I want it all, everything. I want _you_ , so much.”

“Then fuck me. Please.” Miles thrust his hand into Alex’s hair and pulled him close. “You can. I want you to. God, Alex.”

A molten pool of heat flared in the pit of Alex’s stomach and spread its way to every limb. He pressed his tongue into Miles’s mouth and Miles writhed beneath him. They kissed until Alex had to pull back to gasp for air. “Are you– are you sure it’s okay that way?”

“Yeah, I know what I’m doing.”

“Christ, Miles. I’m not sure I do.”

“That’s why it’s better if you go on top. It’s kind of a lot, the other way. We can work up to it though, next time.”

Alex found it suddenly hard to swallow. His chest was full of warmth and he could feel tears pricking behind his eyes. _Next time_. There would be a next time, and a time after that. They had nothing _but_ time, now; time to kiss each other, time to be together. There would be no more hiding, no more secrets, and no more pretending that the strange affinity they shared between them was anything other than what it was.

“You okay?” Miles blinked up at him with concern. “Hey, if you don’t want to, then–”

“I love you, Miles.”

Miles stared at him. His face was a picture that Alex wanted to memorise and keep forever. “Oh fucking hell, Al.” He threw his arms around Alex’s neck and tugged him down, kissed him hard and then kissed him again. “I love you so bloody much, I can’t even think.” He bound them into an even tighter embrace and they lay there for some seconds, both of them breathing heavily, and Alex couldn’t even tell anymore whether it was from pent up desire or released emotion.

Miles’s eyes were wet when he pulled away, his face so open and vulnerable that Alex could hardly stand it. He brushed his fingers over Miles’s cheek.

“Don’t cry. Please. I’m sorry I were so oblivious.”

Miles shook his head. “It don’t matter. Everything’s perfect now. And besides–” His mouth lifted into a tiny smile and his eyes changed their expression. “You’re gonna make it up to me.”

Miles’s smile grew wider and he lifted an eyebrow, and that was all it took to make Alex blaze with heat again. God, but he was going to kiss that cheeky smile right off Miles’s face. Kiss him until he was fucking breathless.

“Bedside drawer,” Miles murmured. “I’ll show you what to do.”

Alex dove for the drawer. He dumped the items they needed on the bed. “Okay, show me.”

Miles opened the tube. “Give me your hand.”

Alex watched with a racing heart as Miles coated both his own and Alex’s fingers with the slippery substance, and then Miles was guiding him, showing him, and all the while pressing distracting kisses to his neck as Alex acclimatised to the feeling of touching Miles in the way he wanted to be touched.

He let Miles demonstrate for about a minute, easing them into a slow rhythm, and then he pushed him back down against the bed and took control for himself. His stomach flooded with heat at the sight of Miles spread out beneath him, his eyelids fluttering, and he couldn’t help but lean down and kiss him yet again. At the same time he pressed cautiously with his digits, curling them as he pushed into the heat of Miles’s body, and then he stopped as Miles arched suddenly and gasped against his ear.

“Shit, I didn't hurt you, did I?”

“Fuck no. The opposite. That feels– oh god, just keep doing that.”

Alex did as he was told and Miles gasped again. He bucked into the press of Alex’s hand, his breathing gone quick and ragged. Alex couldn't take his eyes off him. It was as though he'd slipped into one of his own fantasies, only he'd never pictured it quite like this, nor expected the wave of possessiveness that now swept him at the sight of Miles writhing and panting beneath his touch. His body was burning with its own fierce desire, but even stronger than that was his need to show Miles what he really felt for him. To make Miles feel everything that he had ached to give him for so long.

Alex lent down and kissed him, slowly, thoroughly, and when he pulled away Miles leaned up as if to chase him for more. Alex pushed him gently back down to the bed and Miles’s breathing hitched. His fingers wrapped tight around Alex's wrist. “I want you,” he whispered. “Now.”

The urgency of his tone made Alex weak. His body thrummed with another pulse of heat and in Miles's eyes he could see the rawness of his own need reflected. But no, he wouldn’t be rushed. It didn’t matter how much Miles wanted to set the world whirling on its axis; for once Alex was going to control the speed of this ride, and what was more, he was going to make Miles feel every single minute of it.

“Alex,” Miles said, and his voice was nearly a whine.

“Ssssh,” Alex whispered back. “Close your eyes and lie still.”

Miles groaned as Alex kissed him again, but he let Alex push him down and he didn’t resist as Alex pinned his wrists against the mattress. Alex moved against him, torturing them both with subtle friction, and then he ducked his head and pressed his lips to Miles’s skin, taking his time in sinking lower, relishing in exploring every inch of him. Miles made a desperate sound as Alex began to tease him with his mouth and with the flat of his tongue, but he lay still, his fingers twitching in Alex’s grip, his breathing coming in shallow gasps. Alex kept going, improvising and experimenting, and finally the gasps gave way to murmurs, and then to moans.

“Fuck, Al,” Miles whispered. “Oh god, that feels so fucking good.”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck, yes. Christ.”

Alex flushed at the praise and hummed his satisfaction around the flex of his tongue, making Miles buck his hips and whine in response. He repeated the trick and Miles moaned louder, uttering a stream of expletives as Alex didn’t let up, and then, astoundingly, Miles began to beg him, _please_ and _Alex_ and _oh god please_ , and his cries were like a wildfire in Alex’s veins. That feeling of possessiveness thrilled in him again and Alex burned with it, suddenly at the brink of his own endurance, his need grown just as desperate; this wild desire was like nothing he’d ever known, and now he was certain that Miles felt it too.

He propelled himself upwards and then as one they were reaching for each other. Alex poured himself into their kiss with a fierce hunger and in a flash Miles had both hands on him and was stroking him to insanity with slicked-up fingers, pulling him close, kissing him senseless.

Alex pushed him down one more time and Miles blinked at him as though half-hypnotised while Alex hovered on the edge of their last separation, his heart pounding through every straining sinew and his body dancing with quickening nerves. He felt Miles shudder against him as their bodies aligned, and then Miles was arching right off the mattress, throwing back his head and crying out as Alex entered him, his body taut and his fingers sinking bruises into Alex's hips.

Alex buried his face in Miles's neck, forced himself to be still though his body screamed at him to move. Waited until Miles relaxed his grip and made a needy sound against his ear, and only then did he rock downwards, a ripple of pleasure washing through him at even that subtle motion. Miles responded with an upward jerk of his hips and then they were moving in tandem, gasping and thrusting, holding on to each other, and Alex felt at once that he was nearing the edge, arousal dripping down his spine and pooling in his stomach and the heat of Miles’s body pressing against him in a way that was making him come apart. But it didn’t matter, because Miles was right there too. He was panting for breath, his head thrown back on the pillow, his mouth half open and he looked utterly wrecked, and god Alex wanted to have him like this forever.

He pressed their foreheads flush and Miles stared up at him, his pupils blown wide, and Alex lost himself in the depth of his eyes. Neither of them looked away, their gazes fixed on each other, until Alex canted his hips at a different angle and Miles cried out suddenly.

“Oh god, _Alex_ –”

Alex kissed him hard in response, repeated his thrust and then found himself swaying on the brink of his climax as he watched Miles come to pieces. Miles was begging him again, _touch me_ and _please_ , and Alex reached for him in one deft movement and with a firm stroke he sent them both spiralling over that edge, crying out himself as the pleasure took him by force, his muscles burning, his stomach contracting, and the heat of their connection overpowering him as his control shuddered into a helpless surrender.

It was some time before he came back to himself. When at last he did, it was to find Miles curled up in his arms, clutching him tight, his skin still warm and his body trembling slightly. His face was pressed into Alex’s neck.

“Hey,” Alex whispered. “You okay?”

Miles squeezed him tighter. “I think so.”

“You think so?”

Miles lifted his head and looked into Alex’s eyes. “I know it’s stupid,” he whispered. “Don’t laugh, okay? But part of me’s scared this isn’t real. Like I’m gonna wake up any minute and find it was all a dream.”

Alex kissed him. He did it slowly, with a lingering passion, pouring into it every ounce of feeling that he had. He felt Miles melt into him, his body arching into a perfect curve. “It’s not a dream,” Alex murmured. “Trust me. I’ve had enough of them to know.”

Miles didn’t let go of him. He squeezed Alex once more and for a little while they lay in silence, side by side, just looking at each other. Alex’s body was humming with a soft warmth. He knew he would never tire of looking at Miles. How could he when every inch of him was so beautiful? It should never have taken him this long to notice. Miles was right. He’d been an idiot.

Miles shifted beside him. “Al?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to spoil the mood or anything… but, what are we gonna do about the picture?”

“Oh. Erm. I dunno, I guess– hey, wait a sec.” Alex uncoiled himself from their embrace and sat up. “Where is the bloody picture? Oh shit, I think we kicked it over.”

He shoved himself off the bed and bent to retrieve the canvas, which was lying face down on the carpet. He lifted it and leant it back upright. His breath left him in a rush.

“Oh my god.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Miles… you better come here.”

Miles frowned at him. He got gingerly to his feet and came over to look. His eyes widened as they settled on the picture. The canvas was empty. There was nothing on it but a painted background; the image of the two of them had vanished, as though it had never been there.

“Christ, Miles, I’m really sorry.”

“Wait, what?” Miles turned to him with raised eyebrows. “What are you sorry for now?”

“Because I know how much you loved the picture. I mean, it would have been awkward as hell to have it up on the wall, but I know you wanted to keep it, and now–”

“Alex.” Miles shook his head. He was smiling. “What the fuck do I need a picture for now, eh? The picture was only a substitute. Why do I need that when I have the real thing?” He reached for Alex and kissed him. Alex felt fireworks explode in his chest. He wrapped his arms around Miles’s waist and kissed him back. He kept kissing him until he ran out of oxygen, and then he pulled him close and the two of them stood there in a wordless embrace.

Alex’s skin danced with tiny shivers. He could feel the threads of his desire starting to revive already, his body basking in the warmth of their proximity. He was about to suggest that they head back to bed when Miles shifted out of his arms.

“Hey,” Miles said. “What’s that?”

Alex looked to where he was pointing. There was something lying on the carpet behind the picture. He knelt to pick it up, and then stared at it. It was a rose, vibrant pink with its petals half unfurled. It had fallen from where he’d tucked it into the back of the picture frame, the same pink rose that the woman had given to him in Brighton. Except how could it be the same one? The flower was perfect, unwilted and undamaged, as though it had been cut only seconds ago from the plant.

“Where did that come from?” Miles said.

Alex stood. He stroked his finger across one of the soft pink petals, and his lips curved into a thoughtful smile. He held the rose out to Miles. “This is for you.”

Miles blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah. It must be.” He pressed the flower into Miles’s hand. “I was told to give it to someone I love.”

Miles stared at him for a moment, and then he broke into a vivid smile. His eyes danced and his face lit up like sunshine. At the sight of him, Alex couldn’t help but remember their weekend in Brighton; how the sea had sparkled as they’d walked hip-to-hip up the beach, how the waves had hushed against the pebbles, and how the air had been tinted with the scent of freshly mixed paint.

He responded with a smile of his own and took hold of Miles’s hand, intertwining their fingers in a perfect pattern. Because, after all, Miles was right. They didn’t need a picture to show them the truth. The truth was right here in front of them, exactly where it’d always been had they only known where to look. It was here in their eyes, reflected in their smiles, and it was painted in miniature on the secret surface of their souls. It was a million dazzling colours that danced in rhythm through every part of them. It was shining like the light of the golden hour from the chambers of their hearts.


End file.
